


Learning About Me With You

by dannyboii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blood, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Falling In Love, Family Reunions, Gay Keith (Voltron), I fucked around with Lance's family, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance has step-siblings, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mixed Race Lance (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:45:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyboii/pseuds/dannyboii
Summary: Lance thought today was going to be another typical day for him until he found some guy in the dumpster of his work.





	1. Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey, why haven't you updated any of your other works-"
> 
> I could say I was busy but we all know that's a lie.

The black and white clock on the hospital wall reads 5:32 AM. Thirteen hours ago, a woman gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy after eight long hours of labor. That very woman was now sat up in her hospital bed, pillows propping her sore body up, writing a letter. It would go to the man asleep in his chair next to her bed. It would go to the love of her life. The man she’s known for barely a year. The man she had to leave alone with their newborn son. That very man. She loved him so much, and she knows he loved her back just the same. She took the time to look over his sleeping features. His hair was thin and black, but his facial hair was a dark brown. One couldn’t tell the difference in color unless he went a month or so without shaving; then the colors seemed obnoxiously different to anyone that looked at him. Often times he considered dyeing either end of his head a color to match, but she always insisted how handsome he looked with a full head of black hair and a sparse and scratchy brown beard to mismatch

 

Although his eyes were closed, she knew what they looked like. She knew they looked so brown they were nearly black; that he could give the best puppy dog eyes of anyone she’s ever met, that no matter what anyone else hoped, they lacked any special flakes of color people loved so much. They reminded her of healthy soil when wet; the possibility of anything growing behind those eyes of his, the possibility of his eyes filling with love the moment he laid eyes on their son was an instant reality the minute he held him. She loved those eyes.

 

Resting between and below those eyes, was his long and crooked nose. After a heated argument with his father, it’s been that shape for three years (or so he says). Every kiss they shared, she would always feel his nose brush against her cheek, as if reassuring her in some strange way, that was they had together was mutually wanted; that this child was mutually wanted. That nose calmed her down with each kiss they had.

 

And his skin. His deep brown skin that burned surprisingly easy in the sun, was nearly blemish-free save for the mole above his eyebrow and the barely-there freckles that kissed his nose and cheekbones. An image of him smiling so brightly came to mind, the wrinkles in his skin become prominent with heavy emotions, his crow's feet becoming spider webs against his skin, and the gentle wrinkles around his mouth setting deeply into their surroundings. His teeth were crooked, slightly, and less white than society thinks is appropriate, but that smile was beautiful to her and that’s all that mattered.

 

She looked down at his hands, resting lazily in between his legs. They were long, soft and bony, with small calluses on his fingertips. They were strong too, her own hands remembering the feeling of his grip as she gave the final push that brought their son into this world. They made her feel secure and safe and loved and… everything. Those hands made her feel everything he could give her. His entire being made her feel everything. She knew he had a lot to offer emotionally, and she took it all with grace and compassion and returned those feelings equally.

 

They were in love, and she had to leave him.

 

Her heart felt heavy as she finished the letter. She noticed that throughout the letter, the ink was bleeding. How oblivious was she to not notice that she had been crying? Bringing her attention back to the clock, she noticed that it was 5:45 AM. She had to go. She really, really, had to go, otherwise, she wouldn't ever be able to.

 

She sits up from her hospital bed and quickly detaches herself from her IV and heart monitor. It flatlines, but she dismisses it. She has more important matters at hand. She places one letter on the hospital bed, and the other one, one she finished writing moments before she went into labor, into her lover's hands. His brow furrows. She hasn't much time. She slips out of the room, quickly, and sneaks her way down to the nursery to find her son. The linoleum of the hospital floor was cold to her bare feet, but soon she finds him. Her little boy.

 

Barely over thirteen hours old and a little under seven pounds, her healthy child was brought into this world. Her little Leandro. She picks him up gently as he whines in discomfort, his tiny grunts and groans clear. She coos softly, reassuring him it was okay. He opens his eyes and she gasps softly.

 

“Oh, they're beautiful,” she whispers. “You're so beautiful. My little Leandro, my baby boy.”

 

He has her nose and eyes, but clearly what would be his father's facial structure and gentle brow, and his father's ears thank goodness. She believed her ears to be obnoxiously large. The longer she looked at this tiny bundle of love and joy, the more she fell in love with him, and the more she regretted coming here. She shouldn't have come here. This hurt more than it should have. She really should not have done this before she left. She could feel her throat, chest, and heart tighten.

 

“I wish I could take you with me,” she chokes, her eyes and throat burning. “But I _can't_. It would kill me, and then there would be nobody to protect you in our world. But it's okay because even though I can't be here with you, your father will be. And he loves you so much already!” Little Leandro closes his eyes. “I promise you that you will be safe here until I can come back for you. It's going to be a long time before that can happen, but it will happen eventually, okay?”

 

Quick and heavy footsteps could be heard in the hallway, voices frantic and worrisome. They must have found out she left her room. Which means Leandro’s father was awake. Which means she had to leave, now. She sets Leandro back down in the hospital's bassinet and wipes away her tears. She heads out of the nursery but stops at the doorway.

 

“I love you so much, Leandro.”

 

And with that, she turns and speed walks down the hallway. Her lack of footwear provides some silence and cover in the quiet hallways of the hospital. She begins to wonder why it's so quiet when she remembers the rush of early morning shift nurses headed towards her room. Eventually, she made it out to the parking lot, where the sun was starting to rise and the fresh morning dew was collecting on car windshields and the lush green grass in the measly yard. She muttered a quick prayer to those watching from up above and sliced a hole clean through dimensional space. It emitted a bright yellow glow and a clear promise of her home. She lifted a foot to step through when she heard heavy banging on a security window. She turned around and faced the source. There he was. Banging frantically on the window. She saw nurses look at her and back away. They were presumably on their way to get her.

 

“Javier…” she whispered. That tight feeling came back. “I'm sorry.”

 

And she stepped through the bright dimensional rip, and then she was gone.

 

And Javier was alone.

 

\---

 

Lance shot his eyes open and slowly sat up in his dark room, his mattress creaking underneath him. He listened to the slow and steady out of sync breathing of his older step-brothers, Jamie and Connor. They were twins. Jamie was shorter than Connor by a couple of inches, but Connor was paler than Jamie. They had the same wide noses and black downturned eyes, but Jamie had straight teeth and Connor’s bottom teeth were crooked. Jamie had hair like their father’s, straight and brown and long, and Connor had hair like their mother Vanna, Lance’s step-mother, curly and black. His hair was just as long as his brother’s, if not longer. Connor never straightened his hair.

 

The twins shared a bunk bed together, Connor on the top, and Jamie on the bottom. Lance had a rickety old metal bed frame, the same bed frame he's had since childhood. Lance groped in the dark for his phone to read the time. He turned on the screen and quickly dimmed it to the lowest setting. Jamie and Connor were very light sleepers, or so they said, so when either of them got tired, it was lights out for everyone in the room otherwise they wouldn’t be able to sleep well. Typically, that was around 9:30 at night. Lance’s phone read 3:24 AM.

 

Lance was eighteen years old already and graduated high school early last year. The class he’s grown up with in the middle of this tiny, podunk town with one movie theater and one gas station, was walking this year, and Lance wouldn’t be amongst them. He walked with strangers, last year. He walked with his step-brothers. In a stadium filled with people, Lance felt like he was by himself. He knew people could feel lonely in rooms full of people, but he didn’t know how bad that feeling was until he experienced it firsthand. Even his father’s congratulatory hug felt hollow, and his father gave great hugs.

 

Lance shook his head. Of course, he had to think about such sad things at 3:30 in the morning when there was nobody there to comfort him. Not that anybody but his father would. As grateful to his father Lance was, Lance couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if his mother hadn’t gone missing. Lance was eighteen years old and he didn’t even know what his mother looked like. All his father would say on the matter was: ”You have her eyes. And her nose. The rest is me.” And then he would drop it, just like that. That’s all Lance had to go off of.

 

Lance's eyes were blue, and his nose was wide. His skin was dark, and his hair was darker. He was short and lanky, with spindly fingers and a gentle step. He shot up like a weed in middle school, standing at around five-foot-eight-inches, and then immediately stopped growing afterward. This confused him at first, as his father is a rather tall man towering over anyone he meets at six-foot-three-inches, but soon after Lance stopped growing, all his father said was “Your mother was a short woman.” Yet again, leaving Lance with almost no information regarding his mother.

 

Lance shifted around on his bed a bit before hearing the plastic folder under his pillow move and crinkle.

 

“Oh shoot,” Lance muttered to himself before pulling out the folder. He turned on his phone’s flashlight and held it up to the folder. It was made from a cheap blue plastic that tended to bend when handled too roughly. It cost less than a dollar at the dollar store and held Lance’s most prized and cherished possession; it was a letter from his mother. The paper was wrinkled and desperately flattened and smoothed out. It was flimsy and soft to the touch, and Lance always hesitated to pick it up in fear of damaging it further. Where the wrinkles tore the paper, letters were broken and split up. It wasn’t difficult to read, but for some reason, its appearance made Lance all the more sad to do so.

 

_Leandro,_

 

_I do not know how old you will be when you first read this. I just told your father to give it to you when he deemed the right time, so you could be eight, or ten, or even twenty-five, and just now reading this letter for the first time. However old you are now, though, just know that I love you. I don’t know what sort of person you’re growing up to be, but I cannot wait to meet you again._

 

_I’m writing this minutes before I go into labor- I can feel it. I can feel that you’re ready to experience this world in its entirety. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Eventually, we will be able to enjoy it together._

 

_You’re not even born yet, and I already miss you._

 

_I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and tell you I love you for the very first time._

 

_With Love,_

 

_Your Mother_

 

_(P.S.---- I wrote a letter to your father, as well. It tells him everything. Everything. When you feel you’re ready, ask him for it. He better give it to you, otherwise, we’re going to have problems.)_

 

And that was it. There was no back to the letter, telling of her reason for leaving. No invisible ink with a map leading to a secret house she lived in. That was all Lance’s mother bothered to tell him. He couldn’t even tell what kind of person she was. Lance turned the flashlight off in defeat. How was he supposed to approach his father about the most sensitive topic in the world? Was he just supposed to waltz up to him and go: “Hey dad, remember the love of your life that left you alone with nothing but a child and two letters? Can I have that second letter?” No. That would never work.

 

Lance felt his eyes grow heavy. His phone screen read 3:37 AM. He needed to get some sleep, he had to be up at six to take his step-sister, Quinn, to school. Lance sighed to himself. His step-sister was the same age at him, yet has never bothered to learn how to drive. She didn’t want to and, because she didn’t want to, that left Lance with the responsibilities of taking her anywhere she did and did not want to go.

 

Neatly tucking the folder back under his pillow, Lance rested his head against his pillow, hoping for sleep to come quickly.

 

\---

 

Keith is a very determined wizard. Very. Determined. He’s not one to back down from challenges presented to him and considers himself a coward if he does. Because of this, Keith is absolutely dedicated to becoming a master in Time & Space magic even if he’s _supposed_ to be a Fire wizard.

 

Look, to make this long story short, Keith has an older brother who is a complete master in Time & Space magic. Last year, his brother, Takashi Shirogane, affectionately nicknamed Shiro by his family and peers, opened up an unstable portal to a dimension without magic. Shiro stepped through it and couldn’t get back home. Now, Keith is absolutely dead set on getting his brother back by learning as much Time & Space magic as he can and bring Shiro home.

 

Keith was probably a bit overzealous. Just a skosh. Maybe just a teensy weensy bit. Probably.

 

Okay, Keith’s gonna be honest with himself. He’s kind of a huge fuck up.

 

And by kind of he is.

 

Because Keith was in a dumpster, staring up at some scrawny kid with dark skin and bright blue eyes. And he could bet you twenty bucks that he was not in his dimension anymore.

 

The kid started to open his mouth to say something, but Keith beat him to it.

 

“I can explain,” he said, quickly. “Just don’t call the cops on me.”


	2. Messy Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY, THERE'S BLOOD IN THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> “‘I’m not like anyone’,” Keith mocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I hope you like it.

Freshly out of the dumpster and smelling like old butter, Keith was able to stand at his tallest height of five feet and six inches. The kid that helped him out was probably an inch taller than him at most. He was wearing a blue polo shirt with a nametag attached reading ‘Leandro’.

 

“Is your name Leandro?” Keith blurted out.

 

‘Leandro’ looked confused before looking down at his shirt and seeing his nametag. “Oh. Yeah, but everyone calls me Lance. So call me Lance as you explain to me why you were swimming in garbage.”

 

“Right,” Keith says, snapping his finger. “Do you want the story that makes sense or the story that doesn’t?”

 

“Before we start telling stories, are you hungry?” Lance asks. “I just need to take this trash out,” he lifts the bag of garbage up. “And I’m free to go on my lunch. I don’t eat from this place but I do get a free meal with every shift so I can feed you guilt-free. You look famished.”

 

Keith has never heard anyone use the word ‘famished’ in a real-life conversation. “Uh, yeah, I could eat,” he says. “That would be great, actually, so thanks, man.”

 

Lance shrugs and tosses the garbage into the dumpster. “You seem like you need help so I’ll offer it to you any way I can.”

 

That left Keith speechless. He held a hand out for Lance to shake. He accepted it. “My name is Keith, by the way.”

 

\---

 

Keith is a very messy eater, Lance quickly learns. It doesn’t matter if he had a mullet made of swooshy black hair and unusually colored eyes, and a messy red sweater covered in old soda. He carried this sort of graceful aura that followed him everywhere except for the dinner table. Not that they were sitting at a dinner table, but a sticky table that seats two in the theatre’s lobby could qualify as one such thing.

 

Keith had hot dog relish in his hair and Lance could guarantee that it wasn’t from the dumpster.

 

“So how’s that movie theater hot dog?” Lance asked, giving a small laugh. “Your hair seems to really like the relish a whole lot.”

 

Keith looked up at Lance, a mouth full up food, and quickly swiped a napkin to gently pick out the relish in his hair. He chewed for a moment and swallowed before speaking. “Sorry about that, I don’t remember the last time I’ve had anything to eat.” he chuckled nervously. “What day is it, today?”

 

Lance told him the date.

 

\---

 

“How the fuck have three days passed?” Keith whispered to himself. He used the relish napkin to wipe the mustard and ketchup off his fingers and his mouth. He took a drink of his soda before returning his attention to Lance. “So do you want the story that makes sense or doesn’t?”

 

“Which one’s more exciting?” Lance asked.

 

“The one that doesn’t,” Keith said simply. “It’s shorter, though, and less believable.”

 

Lance leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. “Hit me,” he said.

 

Keith took a deep breath. “Okay,” he sighed and grimaced. “You are really not going to believe me.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Come on man, just tell me.”

 

“I’m from the dimension next to yours. I opened a portal to look for my brother, who’s been missing for a year, and I landed in the dumpster of your work.” Keith said quickly, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

“What?” Lance said simply.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t-”

 

“You opened a portal?” Lance interrupted as if he had just heard the question two seconds after Keith said it. “Seriously? Can you show me?”

 

“What? No- portals are incredibly difficult to do and take up a lot of my magical energy, the energy I need to live. If I use it all up, I’ll die.”

 

“What do you mean?” Lance asked. “Does the same thing happen in your dimension?”

 

“No, my dimension is different. It has this sort of universal essence that grants everyone magical abilities of all sorts, and it ‘charges’ us, you could say.” Keith explained. “And rumor has it you can only open a portal in this dimension one day a year, and if you miss that day you’ll have to wait another full year.”

 

“Oh,” Lance said. “When’s that?”

 

“Late July. The twenty-ninth, I’m pretty sure.” Keith said.

 

“Oh! That’s a day after my birthday!” Lance said excitedly, sitting forward. Then he threw himself back into the seat again. “But that’s like, five months away! Are you going to be able to make it that long?”

 

“If I don’t use my magic, I’ll be fine,” Keith reassured him. “But I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to do that without any money or a place to stay until then.”

 

“Real quick,” Lance interjected. “Before I say anything else, will you please show me a little bit of magic so that I know I can actually really trust you?”

 

Keith considered it for a moment, looking Lance’s face over. His eyes were too bright and blue. “Where are you from?” Keith asked. “Are both your parents around?”

 

Lance’s eyes skirted over the movie theater’s lobby. He was uncomfortable. “Ah, sort of…” he said. “My father is, but my mother isn’t. She’s gone somewhere. Don’t know where. Dad won’t tell me. Refuses to. I’ve got a step-mom, though, and three step-siblings. They’re okay.”

 

Keith had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to Lance than he was letting on. Reaching into the pocket of his hoodie, Keith discreetly extracted and opened a Charmed swiss-army-knife. It had a purple casing and was a gift from his mother. “Hey Lance, can I see something real quick?” He asked, nonchalantly.

 

“Sure,” Lance agreed.

 

“Awesome, gimme your hand.”

 

Lance gave Keith his hand. Keith quickly brought the knife down across Lance’s palm.

 

“Fuck!” Lace hissed. He tried to pull his hand out of Keith’s grip, but Keith was stronger than he looked. Keith watched Lance’s bleeding palm closely, searching for the answer he needed. “What the fuck is your problem?” Lance groaned. He closed his hand for a quick second before Keith pried it open again.

 

Bingo. Keith let go of Lance’s hand.

 

“You’re like me.”

 

“You’re fucking crazy, dude. I’m not like anyone.” Lance said, glaring. He was keeping his hand close to his chest now as if hiding his no longer bleeding hand. He fumbled for some napkins, attempting to clean up the blood on his hand.

 

“‘I’m not like anyone’,” Keith mocked, before doing the same thing to his own hand. He put it up to Lance’s face to show him he was, in fact, bleeding, before he closed his hand and opened it again. He wasn’t bleeding anymore. He pulled his hand away from Lance’s face before looking him in the eyes. “Bullshit. Where are you from, Lance?”

**Author's Note:**

> The reference I used regarding Lance's height:
> 
> https://the-voltron-theorists.tumblr.com/post/156415826261/how-tall-are-the-paladins


End file.
